


A Little Deeper...

by diedinthefall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Injury, Cutting, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, One Shot, Self-Harm, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:14:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6598189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diedinthefall/pseuds/diedinthefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is left heartbroken after Dean reveals that it was "just messing around" and turns to his worst habit to help him cope.</p><p>(PLEASE READ ALL THE TAGS BEFORE READING)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Deeper...

The tears were running steadily down Sam’s cheeks, the air from the oscillating fan across the room blowing a timed cycle of gusts across his face making his cheeks feel cool as it briefly dried the tears there but only for a second for as quickly as the air left more tears would replace the dried ones and the cycle continued. How could he have been so blind to think what they had was real? He let a few sobs escape careful to muffle them, the last thing he wanted in his room was company, that is if there was anyone home. Months of whatever fucked up relationship they had going on and he should of guessed it was just messing around. _“It’s no big deal, Sammy. Right? I don’t want you to feel tied down, that’s all.”_ Sure, it was fine. Dean didn’t want to be tied down, to feel responsible for things getting too serious. He got the message loud and clear. He waited until Dean left to go to the bar with dad until he let it really sink in. What it all meant and that this might be it for them being together...sexually...romantically? He’s not sure he would call what they shared recently romance but it had it’s moments but now he felt raw on the inside, like he was being ripped apart and it hurt like nothing he’d felt before and Sam had had his fair share of being actually ripped open. This was worse though. He couldn’t stitch this up and call it good. This pain was deep and internal. It was a great big rip in his not-literal heart and all the tears were just a physically representation of how much he was bleeding inside. He wanted the pain to end but the tears continued, out of his control. He wanted the control back and he wanted to die, he didn’t care which came first. He already felt like he was dying anyway. He grabbed the small box from his bag and went into the bathroom and locked the door. 

Sam sat in the empty tub, around him were his supplies. The small box opened to reveal a few razor blades and a small knife, by his leg sat a piece of gauze, and the emergency cell just in case. His tears were fewer now that he was focused but still the dull ache inside of him fought to overcome his small amount of control. His voice a small trembling whisper, “I hate him. Why’d he have to make me fall in love with him? Why give me what I want just to... _fuck!_ ” Sam sobbed and this time the bathroom echoed with it. He wasn’t sure if Dean or their father was back yet but he prayed they weren’t and if they were that they were to “busy” to hear anything. Glancing at his box he picked his poison. Honestly he wasn’t sure why but he always picked the same one. Classic small razor, the ones you break open shaving razors to get. He keeps about three of them in his box just to be sure he always has a sharp one. He never uses the knife. It’s more of a cover in case anyone were to find it and ask questions. His breath is still hitching, he’s still crying when he places the blade to the skin of his upper thigh. It’s a shallow cut to start, enough to sting and enough to bleed but with very minimal blood, to test how sharp this blade is. It’s a quick line and the slight sting from the blade is a relief, finally the weight on his chest feels less constricting. It takes a few seconds for the first small droplets of blood to pool along the line he drew. Sam picks up the gauze and dabs the cut before moving his blade a half inch lower and placing another clean line, using slightly more pressure than the first. It bleeds quicker but not enough to drip, not yet. Sam realizes his breathing has almost become normal, he’s not crying anymore. He’s in control now. It’s his say in how much he will hurt, in how much he’ll bleed. The pain is no longer out of control but it’s in control and he takes a deep breath. He watches closely, transfixed as the razor makes the last cut just a little deeper.

A little deeper and maybe he can cut out all of his feelings for Dean. A little deeper and maybe tomorrow morning it won’t be so bad when he’s sits at the table still smelling like sex and flowery perfume. At least tomorrow he’ll have the sting of his fresh cuts to remind him at least there is one thing in his life he’s in control of even if it’s a sick habit. He does know it’s a sick habit but the Winchester men are never known for dealing with their problems in a healthy way. He knows the blood and the pain shouldn’t be so inviting, so comforting. He shouldn’t find such peace in his self mutilation, he shouldn’t find beauty in the way the cuts bleed. But Sam’s never claimed he wasn’t a disgusting freak. Doesn't it take a certain kind of freak to fall in love with their own brother?

The last cut bleeds way more then Sam had planned on, which is more annoying then it is dangerous. It’s annoying because he has to hold a blood soaked gauze against his thigh while he fumbles to get a new one, trying to not let the blood get anywhere else. Sam really wasn’t in the mood to clean blood from every part of the bathroom. He was exhausted. All he wanted was to flop in bed and hopefully get some good sleep. So after he controlled the bleeding and bandaged his thigh, he collected his things, hid the bloody gauze in the bottom of the trash and snuck out of the bathroom. He made it all the way to his door before he heard the floor creak down the hall and it scared the shit out of him. He decided it was dark enough that maybe if he was really still and just stared at the door Dean wouldn’t-- 

“Sammy? I thought you were asleep.”

“I...uh. I was but nature calls.”

Dean chuckled as his door creaked open.

“Goodnight, Sam.”

“Night.”

Sam quickly entered his room closing the door. He had a feeling that sleep wouldn’t be as peaceful as he had planned. As if to punctuate the point he bumped his thigh on the nightstand while trying to climb into bed sending a fresh shock of stinging pain. He silently prayed he would somehow disappear before the cycle of tears and pain started again. Dean just had to be there, maybe this was his divine punishment.

He should have cut deeper.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I want to be clear that I am in no way trying to romanticize or promote self harm as a way to cope with problems. I very personally understand that this is a very harmful and destructive behavior. I have been through the struggles of recovering from self harm, I know the damage it causes, the risks, and I still struggle with urges from the addiction. I actually wrote this as a way to project my feelings and cope in a way that didn’t involve me hurting myself. I urge anyone who is dealing with this to please reach out and get help, it’s very hard to do this alone and there are so many other healthy ways to cope. It is possible to live self harm free, I'm on my sixth year clean.


End file.
